Bullet
by tfm
Summary: Like most complicated relationships, it started in Vegas, but not in the usual way. It started with a bullet. Morgan/Prentiss Character Death. Smut.
1. Part One

Bullet

Part One of Two

Like most complicated relationships, it started in Vegas, but not in the usual way. It didn't start with copious amounts of alcohol, and a night of drunken regrets. It didn't start with mindsplitting hangovers, and trying to find discarded clothes as quickly as possible before last night's sexual partner wakes up.

It started with a bullet.

The bullet that hit Emily in the vest.

More specifically, it started with a firefight.

The firefight that had her and Morgan pinned down on the opposite side of the room to the rest of the team.

Their profile had led them to the discovery that their unsub was an avid gambler at one of the casinos. So they'd come there, guns drawn, vests velcroed shut. What the profile hadn't told them was that their unsub would be heavily armed. Head of security for this casino would seriously need to start looking for a new job.

'_Do you have a shot?_' Both Emily and Morgan heard Hotch's voice coming in over the earpiece. Emily, being closer to the unsub, shuffled to the left until she could see him.

Then, they heard the gunshot.

Evidently, she'd been a little less hidden from view by the artificial plant-life than she'd thought. She wasn't thinking about that, though. She was thinking about the sledgehammer that had just slammed into her chest at over a thousand feet per second.

The force of the bullet sent her falling backwards, as the second shot whizzed over her head. She was vaguely aware of being pulled backwards by Morgan, and the sound of her name buzzing in her ear.

It hurt to breath. Realistically, she knew that the bullet had not gone past the Kevlar vest, but that didn't stop her from closing her eyes and gritting her teeth in pain.

It didn't stop Morgan from panicking, either.

***

The two things seemed to happen at once; the sound of the gunshot, and Emily dropping to the ground. If he were to think about it though, if he were to play it back in slow motion, with a timer flicking across the bottom of the scene, he would have noticed mere milliseconds between the two events. Milliseconds in which he could do nothing but watch in horror.

At first, he thought she was dead. Her eyes were closed, and she didn't seem to be moving. He heard Hotch say her name over the earpiece. He didn't respond, for fear of what the reaction would be. "Sorry, Hotch. I let Emily die right in front of me." Even thinking about it sounded stupid.

He pulled her back behind their cover, eyes continually scanning for any ominous holes, any red stains that hadn't been there before they'd come to the casino. With a sigh of relief, he realized that he didn't see any.

He couldn't remove the vest. Not while there was still the potential for live fire. Still, it wasn't quite enough for her to open her eyes, give him a pained smile, and say, 'Thank God for Kevlar.' He gave a sigh of relief anyway, and they both heard the sound of exhalation over their respective earpieces.

She was too busy focusing on the pain in her chest to notice that Morgan was kneeling close, hunched over as if to protect her. If she had noticed, he thought that she would have made a comment about being able to look after herself.

But she didn't say anything. Not about the protective stance, not about the hand on her thigh. Not even about the fact that he really should have been paying more attention to the unsub than to her. But it didn't matter.

They both heard the third gunshot as Hotch took the unsub down. After a cursory glance to check that the coast was, in fact clear, Morgan ripped off the vest, taking solace in the fact that the bullet had not fully penetrated the Kevlar.

She didn't argue as he lifted her shirt to check for injuries. Already, a bruise was forming on her lower abdomen. She'd definitely need to get checked out by the paramedics; she could have had anything from a broken rib to internal bleeding.

'Seriously, Derek,' she said, as he helped her up. 'I'm fine.' Nonetheless, she didn't try to brush away the hand on her shoulder. The hand that kept her steady.

'Paramedics,' said Hotch sternly, and between the Unit Chief hovering in front of her, and Morgan hovering at her side, she didn't have much of a choice.

'Did you know that Kevlar XP has a 15% reduction in backforce deformation and superior ballistic performance when compared to previous designs?' Reid piped up. 'It's also 10% lighter.' At Emily's dazed expression, he elaborated. 'It means that there should be less chance of rib fractures or other serious injury.'

'That, uh...That actually does make me feel better. Thanks Reid.' She smiled, patting him on the shoulder. None of them missed the wince.

Hand still on her shoulder, Morgan directed Emily towards the casino exit. Were it not for the fact that she probably would have kicked him in the shins, he probably would have picked her up and carried her the short distance.

***

As their apprehension of the unsub had taken place in the late hours of the afternoon, the team still had the rest of the night in Vegas. Normally, Morgan would have relished the chance to hit the casinos, drinking the night away, and maybe getting lucky on the side. That night, though, he had more important things to do.

It was just after nine when he found himself knocking on Emily's hotel room door, hoping that she hadn't gone to sleep yet. The paramedics had given her painkillers, and instructions to rest, but if he knew Emily, she was probably still up, refusing to follow the orders on principle alone.

She answered the door in a worn t-shirt and sweatpants, TV remote in hand. 'Stargate repeats on the Sci-Fi channel,' she explained, stepping back to let him in. He found it curious that she didn't even question his presence.

'Reid, Rossi and JJ hit the casinos,' he said casually. 'Reid reckons he can run a profit of at least a grand before the end of the night.'

She nodded; all three of them had – in isolation of each other – checked on her before they left, almost two hours ago. She had warded them off fairly quickly, not wanting to ruin their night for her benefit. She was just about to do the same with Morgan when he interrupted her.

'I'm not going anywhere.'

She shrugged slightly. It had been worth a shot.

'Tell me what's on your mind,' he offered. 'Whatever you tell me doesn't need to leave this room.' He recognized the troubled look on her face; she was in doubt about something.

'I thought I was going to die,' she revealed eventually. 'Just in that one moment between getting shot, and realizing that the vest had taken the hit, I thought that this was the end of the line. That I'd never get a chance to do the things I wanted to do with my life. I'm two years shy of forty, and I haven't had a real relationship in over five years. I don't even have time to get out and have a one night stand. And I just can't help but thing that it's too late. That I've missed my chance for marital bliss, for parenthood, and if I had died today, the only people that it would have made any impact on at all are the team.'

It was rather a lengthy speech for the usually reserved profiler, a speech that Morgan realized was propelled somewhat by a blood-alcohol level above zero. She wasn't wasted, but she was drunk enough to have her inhibitions lowered just that little bit.

'We're not just a team,' he said, putting a hand on her thigh. 'We're friends.' He didn't want to say "family" – it would have made what he was about to do just that much more difficult. He leaned forward, and kissed her softly on the lips.

She didn't pull back; rather, she curled her arm around his neck and pulled herself even closer towards him. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't wanted this. She had wanted this ever since he had made her feel welcome on the team, just by engaging her in a conversation about a book. It was the kind of guy he was.

'Life's short,' she murmured, fingers breaking apart their bodies to reach his shirt. She rubbed her palm against his firm chest, reveling in the warmth. She pushed him back just a little bit more, so the shirt could be lifted. Her head pressed against his bare chest. It felt safe, unlike some of the other men she'd been with.

He lowered his own head, resting it atop her dark locks. This was different to the sex that he usually had. With his job, he rarely had time for anything beyond a quick fling; the women he was with usually preferred things hard, fast, and over within a week. This, though, was different. His relationship was Emily was much deeper than with any of the women he had previously been intimate with. He saw her almost every day. He cared for her deeply, and he did not – did ­_not ­_– want to hurt her.

'Where do we want to go with this, Emily?' he asked, inhaling the scent of her hair. It had an almost vanilla aroma to it.

'Just something to ease the pain every now and then,' she said, her words muffled by his chest. He nodded. He wasn't sure he could handle a long-term, committed relationship, even with someone he knew as well as Emily.

He lowered his hands so that he could remove her shirt, and with this pro-active turn of events, she pulled him backwards into a lying position. His hands were planted either side of her, fabric of her shirt crumpled up under his left fist. He didn't want to exacerbate her bruising by putting all of his weight on top of her.

He joined his mouth to hers, tasting the alcohol that was still lingering on her breath. She reciprocated his eagerness, trying to draw him closer without letting their bodies touch. Pulling back slightly, his gaze moved a little bit lower, appreciating the fact that she had decided to go bra-less this evening.

'Are you just going to stare at them?' she asked, mirth evident in her voice.

He did not answer with words, but rather clenched her nipple between his teeth, an action which elicited a surprised – but not disappointed – gasp from Emily. Were she not in the throes of ecstasy, she would have marveled at his upper body strength – the way he managed to pay such lavish attention to her breasts whilst still making sure he didn't aggravate her wounds. It was a feat made even more difficult by the way she arched when he hit a particularly erogenous spot.

'Oh, God, Morgan.' Her words were labored, as though speaking was far more effort than she could handle at that point. He wasn't finished though. She gave a moan of disappointment as he pulled backwards; it was a disappointment that was not made any easier by the fact that he had moved immediately to her sweatpants. Still, knowing that it was far more difficult to remove clothes from a dead weight, she attempted to make his task easier by lifting her legs.

Though he had removed her pants for easier access, he wasn't quite ready to move down there yet. His lips explored her body in detail, avoiding only the lower abdomen. It was an unconscious action he was sure – the profiler in him liked to pander to the needs of the woman, and right now, Emily needed to feel loved. And it was working. When he finally did slip his fingers beneath the elastic of her panties, she was smiling – the kind of smile he hadn't seen on her in a long time.

He kept watching her face – watched her eyes closing as he ran his left hand up her thigh to where her legs met. The other hand soon joined it, and with practiced precision, his fingers explored from her clit to the curves of her buttocks, as if trying to map out the female genital model by touch alone.

When she let out the first moan, if he wasn't already engorged, straining the seams of his jeans, that would have sent him over the edge. A lesser man might have exploded at the sounds she made, the muscles that spasmed as he pushed the first finger in. Her wet heat seemed to pulsate at his touch.

Her excitation extrapolated as he slid in another finger, then a third, and a fourth, leaving his thumb free to rub circles against her swollen clit. He thrust his fingers in and out, feeling the contraction of her body as she drew closer to a climax. Then, her body relaxed around him, over almost as quickly as it had started.

'Oh, God, Morgan,' she repeated, in a voice that had even less energy than before. Though he had scarcely done more than move his fingers, it had taken everything out of her. 'That was…Oh God.' For Emily, it was rare that someone cared enough to pay attention to her needs – usually, it was in, out, and done.

It took a couple of minutes of slow breathing before Emily was anywhere near starting the road to recovery. She leaned into Morgan's touch as he ran his hand along her exposed thigh. It was then the she realized that, though she had "benefited" from the experience, he was yet to be satisfied. With that thought in mind, she turned slowly so that she was facing him. Her hand went to the belt of his pants.

'What are you doing?' he murmured, making a small noise as her fingers brushed the bulge in his pants.

'I'm taking off your pants so you can fuck me,' she replied matter-of-factly.

'Are you sure?' he asked, not even trying to mask the concern in his voice. 'I don't want to hurt you.'

'I'm a big girl, Morgan.' She slid the jeans down, laughing in disbelief when she saw the protrusion of flesh from the fly of his boxers. Maybe this would hurt a little more than she had intended. 'Just a second,' she continued, after her brief moment of surprise. 'Condom.'

She usually kept a box with her; an as yet unused security measure. Her attempts at opening the box were a little overenthusiastic – it had been a while since she had done this, with anyone.

'How many do you think we'll need?' asked Morgan, grinning, as brightly colored packets split over the bed.

'You tell me,' she replied, eyebrows raised. Then, she simultaneously ripped the packet open with her teeth and pulled down his boxers with her remaining hand.

On impulse, she ran her tongue along the crown of his cock, watching him shiver at the stimulation of nerve endings. When she slipped her mouth over the top of it completely, she heard him moan. Lips curling into a smile, she pulled away, replacing her touch with the latex of the condom.

Emily pulled herself upwards, straddling his thighs, their fingers intertwining. His erect cock pressed into her pelvis. 'I'm not very good at top,' she admitted. 'My sexual repertoire is limited to thrashing about, and making embarrassing moaning sounds.'

He didn't say anything, simply grinned. He pulled her closer towards him. She shook her head, almost sighing at his smug expression. She lifted her hips slightly until she was at just the right angle to let him slide in. She gasped at the sudden intrusion; he wasn't exactly petite.

And that simply caused his grin to widen. Now that he was sheathed inside of her, he took a hold of her waist, pulling her towards him, and then rolled, taking care not to press too heavily into her bruised ribs.

As he climaxed, he saw the look in her eyes – a light that had been absent since their caseload had taken a dark turn. In that moment he knew that this wasn't just a onetime thing.

This was something else.

**A/N: Thanks to Windy City Dreamer, who betaed this. I don't really write smutty smut very well, so this was difficult. Part two will be up as soon as I write it, but it won't be a happy ending. Sorry.**


	2. Part Two

Bullet

Part Two of Two

The first time had been slow, gentle.

The second time was faster, a little more demanding.

The third time they slowed down again, finding what pleased, and what _really_ pleased.

The tenth time, they realized that between them, they had two sets of cuffs.

It had been three months since their initial liaison in Vegas, and, while Emily's bruises had healed, the consequences of them were still running hot.

It was a short turnaround in D.C. – they had returned from Florida just that afternoon, and an overworked JJ had told them that they would be taking a case in Southern California the next morning. That gave them a few hours to kill, and that fact that they wanted to kill those hours together definitely said something about the progress of their relationship.

They lay on Emily's couch, bodies intertwined so that they were almost one. The fact that they were fully clothed was the only disqualifying factor to the description. Morgan, though, was doing his best to remedy that unfortunate situation. His hand had crept slowly from her waist, to her inner thighs, and though she was still wearing jeans, he could feel her tightening as he trailed his fingers along the seam.

The DVD had long since finished, their beer bottles long since emptied, and yet neither felt the inclination to get up. They were quite happy to relish each other's warmth. There was one thing in particular, though, that would stimulate them both into movement.

He felt Emily's muscles tighten even more as his fingers reached the apex of the jeans. She turned slightly and leaned upwards so that their lips could lock together. In doing so, she had given him access to the front of her jeans. He slipped a hand inside them, the sound of her moan muffled by the kiss. At this angle, it was impossible for Emily to do anything but the keep kissing him, and facilitate the removal of her pants. That, though, was an action Morgan was not quite ready to take. He seemed perfectly happy probing the inside of her, grinning when he evidently hit the g-spot. She let go of his lips completely then, giving a guttural moan as she arched back into him.

'You think that's funny?' she muttered, when he finally withdrew his fingers, soaked in her essence. 'How am I supposed to perform now, when you've gone and peaked already?' She was baiting him, he knew, and he took the bait with enthusiasm.

'Don't get ahead of yourself, girl. I've got plenty of things to show you before the night is through.'

'Oh, that's right. You were a jock, weren't you?' Unprepared, she gave a slight squeal as he rolled her to face him. She seemed almost embarrassed at the sound she had made. It didn't last long – she knew she'd be making much worse sounds before the night was through.

'Condom?' he asked, as his fingers fidgeted with the zipper of her jeans. If they didn't get one now, they would be far too overcome by the throes of passion to worry about it when the time came. They had gone without before – though she was on the pill, she trusted him enough to do the right thing if something unexpected did occur.

'They're upstairs.' She did a quick mental calculation. She was fairly certain she wasn't ovulating. 'We should be fine.'

Morgan nodded. It was Emily's call. Though he wouldn't be averse to having a child in his life, it would certainly complicate things at Quantico. With sociopaths and psychopaths and every flavor in between, more complications were the last thing he needed to deal with.

He returned his focus to the task at hand; removing Emily's pants. Their position on the couch made it somewhat difficult. The slightest movement in the wrong direction could send them both tumbling to the floor, not that it would make a difference. He was fairly sure that they had christened almost every surface in the apartment.

Finally succeeding in his quest, he tossed her jeans in the direction of the television, where the DVD menu was still glaring. Looking for an amalgamation of intellectual stimulation and unabashed badassery, they had settled on watching the _Battlestar Galactica_ miniseries. Emily had seen in so many times, Morgan got the feeling she probably would have mouthed along with the script had he not been there. He found even the thought endearing.

He had known from the start that their relationship was going to be much, much more than a quick fuck as the occasion warranted it. They had similar tastes in books and movies, and, like very few of the women he had dated, she could kick an ass like it was nobody's business. As such, he hadn't minded so much when he realized that he had fallen in love.

That feeling was reflected in his touch, as he paid close and careful attention to each part of her. He had removed her shirt and was gently mouthing at the skin of her breast before she had even had the chance to touch his belt.

If he had any hair she would have run her fingers through it, while he teased at her nipple with his tongue and his teeth. Even through the bra, it was an incredible dichotomy of pleasure and pain. And then, when he slid his arm around her back, and unclasped it, only to reaffirm his touch upon bare skin, she almost screamed. Before they'd started doing this – before three months ago – she never would have pegged him for a biter. But then, she'd learned a lot about Derek Morgan over the last three months. She'd learnt that if her lips brushed just the right spot on his cock, he would come almost immediately. She'd learnt that while he liked her touching him, he loved paying inordinate amounts of attention to her even more. She'd learnt that he had a rarely seen submissive streak hidden beneath all that macho. She had learnt that no matter how much she tried to deny it, she was in love with him.

She hadn't told him that yet, of course, though she got the idea that her feelings were reciprocated. It wasn't so much his actions, as the look in his eyes when he shucked his pants, and thrust his cock into her. He started fast, but then slowed down, so that they were doing something truly special, rather than just fucking.

And if Emily had known what was going to happen, she would have told him she loved him right then and there. If Morgan had known, he would have done the same.

But they didn't know.

It had started slow and gentle. It ended slow and gentle.

It had started with a bullet. It ended with a bullet.

***

They'd been in San Diego for a little over a week, tracking down an ex-police officer who seemed to enjoy killing people much more than he enjoyed saving them. Their search had finally led them to a quiet neighborhood, ten miles east of downtown San Diego.

Glock in a tight grip, Morgan kept half of his attention on Hotch, the other half on Emily. He knew that this was the reason why relationships between team members were frowned upon. All it took was one moment of distraction for every-thing to go pear-shaped. The kind of distraction there was if Morgan was too busy making sure Emily didn't get hurt to notice that other people were in danger too.

And that put him in a paradox; while he would never want to do anything that could put his teammates in danger, nor could he turn off the feelings that burnt so strongly. This was_ exactly_ the reason why it wasn't allowed.

But damned if he could do anything about it.

He followed Hotch into the house; Emily was behind him, a fact he was almost grateful for. If he couldn't see her, then he might not be distracted. But then, on the flip side, if he couldn't see her, then he would worry.

He was clearing the bathroom when he heard the shot.

***

Emily felt the sharp, stinging pain in her right arm. The sharp, stinging pain that had caused her to drop her weapon.

All she could do was blink, wondering just what had happened.

House. Kitchen. Unsub.

Right.

No sooner than she had entered the kitchen, scanning for hostiles, he had fired. This time, the bullet had missed the Kevlar, hitting her in the right tricep.

Behind the black spots that were starting to form in her eye, she saw the unsub leveling his weapon to fire again. Before she could fully comprehend the fact that she was about to die, a large mass that she hadn't even seen tackled her to the ground.

She knew the shape of that body, Kevlar or no Kevlar. Too busy shielding her, she knew he wouldn't be able to get a shot of. With a surge of adrenaline, her left hand managed to find the weapon that she had dropped. Shaking fingers managed to squeeze the trigger twice with adequate accuracy before dropping the weapon to the ground.

She turned her attention back to Morgan, still a dead weight on top of her. 'Thanks,' she whispered, right before she noticed the look on his face.

It was a mixture of shock and pain; as though he thought himself invincible. Suddenly ignorant of her own wound, she eased him off of her.

She didn't need to ask to know where he was hit. The blood was flowing freely from a wound in his upper thigh. With her uninjured arm, she pressed into it, doubling the intensity as the blood seemed to just spill through her fingers.

'Why the hell did you do that, Morgan?' she demanded, tears in her eyes. 'You shouldn't…God damnit, Morgan.'

'Hey,' he whispered, with his last vestiges of life. 'I love you, girl. Never forget that.'

She heard the intake of breath from Hotch, who she hadn't even realized was standing behind her. She didn't turn to face him. She wasn't going to leave Morgan for any reason.

'You can't die, Derek,' she whispered, holding his limp hand against her abdomen. 'Baby needs a daddy.' It wasn't a lie – not strictly speaking. She was a week late, but hadn't taken a test yet. It could have been stress, but it could just as easily have been a tiny life starting to grow inside of her. Either way, it was worth it just to see the light in his eyes before he closed them for the last time.

**A/N: Okay. This stemmed from several conversations with my sometimes-beta, Windy City Dreamer, in which I realised that a) I haven't really written a serious smut story and that b) Morgan is the only character that I'd never killed off in a story. Actually, that sounds kind of morbid now that I think about it, but oh well. I hope you enjoyed my first real forays into the world of smut and Morgandeath.**


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